


Best Places to Hide a Body

by Mirjamiarty (Mirjam)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirjam/pseuds/Mirjamiarty
Summary: "The first time Sherlock saw him, the man was walking back and forth Montague street with a cane, clearly looking for something."A story in which John's therapist introduced him another hobby, instead of blogging.





	Best Places to Hide a Body

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Les meilleurs endroits pour cacher un corps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738800) by [TheBiWhoLivedTwice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiWhoLivedTwice/pseuds/TheBiWhoLivedTwice)



The first time Sherlock saw him, the man was walking back and forth Montague street with a cane, clearly looking for something. Maybe the British Museum, right across the corner? Sherlock himself was smoking at the open window in his rooms, not caring if the smoke drifted inside. His landlord had already handed him an eviction notice, so he would be forced to leave at the end of the month, smoke or not. Tedious.

He scratched his bare ankle, and refused to check his phone again. It would have been pointless anyway, Lestrade had been adamant. No police cases until Sherlock could provide results of clean drug tests from at least two consecutive weeks. The insufferable man didn’t seem to understand that the lack of cases wasn’t exactly spurring him into sobriety. Quite the opposite! This wasn’t the first time though. The detective inspector would come around eventually, and at least now Sherlock had ample time to find a new flat. Maybe somewhere with less tourists? 

The man on the street was limping around, looking between his phone and his surroundings with a frown. Sherlock’s first guess was incorrect. The man had looked at the British Museum sign, but didn’t follow it. Or maybe he was just blind or illiterate? Not likely. He was clearly military (hair, posture, injury). Something about the way he moved fascinated Sherlock, so he stood up from his chair for a better view. Maybe it would at least give him a moment of amusement.

The man stopped near the bike rental dock and started looking around more actively. He was walking with a cane, surely he would not be in search of a bike? No, his attention shifted towards the fence behind the bikes. He wasn’t looking for anything he had dropped (would be staring at the pavement then), and the posters, graffiti or stickers didn’t seem to interest him. Sherlock noticed the obvious secrecy in his actions. When someone walked past him, he stood up straight and pretended to do something on his phone. As soon as the intruder was far enough, he continued his mysterious doings. What could he be looking for? 

Before Sherlock could see anything more, a large lorry stopped between him and the mysterious man. When it finally moved again, the man was already walking away with determination, and Sherlock finally realized what had gotten his attention in the first place: the man had not been limping on every step, and now he wasn’t limping at all. 

***

Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about the man. Was he faking his limp? Next morning Sherlock had already gone through multiple theories, but he hadn’t gone out to check the area himself. Instead he took the deduction as a welcome challenge. He had already dismissed a theory about hiding a bomb. The man was military and acted suspiciously, but he didn’t look scared or tense. Sherlock had also seen a couple of others looking for something at the same place, so the bomb theory was highly improbable. 

Was the man hiding something for the others to find? Drugs? Sherlock glanced at his own stash, but surprisingly didn’t feel tempted. Instead he started to mentally revisit all the clues in light of the drug theory. 

Sherlock was almost ready to dismiss that idea too (after all, he knew that business), when his brother called. Mycroft politely informed that upon hearing about Sherlock’s eviction, he had been forced to freeze all of Sherlock’s accounts, for he obviously wasn’t fit for independent life. In return, Sherlock politely informed that he would rather go and sleep rough again than move back to Mycroft’s apartment, and then hung up with considerable force. 

His insufferable brother wanted to control every aspect of his life, and while he could admit (to himself) that he had made some questionable decisions in the past, this time he had actually had a good plan! He had called Mrs. Hudson, and found out that her tenants were leaving. She had even promised Sherlock a considerable discount from the rent. He had rarely needed to think about the money, so he had dismissed the promise as unnecessary. He was sure the offer was still standing, but it was a place in central London, and thus would apparently be too much for him, discount or not. 

Sherlock looked at his laptop with disdain, but opened his email anyway. If he were lucky, someone would have written him about something sufficiently interesting. Locating missing pets or confirming love affairs would be his last resort! He opened the first unread message, and hoped he wouldn’t have to stoop too low.

***

After a few days Sherlock ended up shadowing a young man, who was suspected of adultery, and his suspected lover, who was accused of stealing the young man’s wife’s puppy. His first thought had been that the case was somehow Mycroft’s idea of a joke just to make his life more miserable, but in the end it was just the God of coincidences laughing at him (if he’d believed in that sort of thing). The only mystery was how he was supposed to keep his brain from rotting before he found the dog and got the money for his troubles.

The suspected lover lived right next to Battersea Park, and the homeless network had seen him walking the missing dog (or a similar one) there. The lover’s home had of course been the first thing Sherlock checked, but there had been no sign of the animal. Either the suspect wasn’t keeping the dog there, or he had invented some miraculous dog hair remover. Somehow Sherlock doubted that. The man was obviously an idiot. He was walking the stolen dog at the public park next to his home after all! The affair had also been obvious, the lover had framed pictures on his wall of the two of them! Sherlock had contemplated stealing one for the wife as proof, but unfortunately she had promised to pay him only for recovering the dog.

Since the dog wasn’t at the lover’s apartment, and Sherlock had no other clues, there was really nothing to do but wait at the park. How hateful! The lover was working regular hours and dogs loved routines, so it was reasonably possible for him to visit the park the same time every day.

Sherlock sat on the park bench that had the best view to the right direction and tried to avoid dying of boredom. He cursed his brother and was on his way cursing the world’s population in general when he spotted a familiar figure on the pathway. The mystery man was standing on both feet, but still had a cane in his hand. His other hand was stretched in front of him, holding a smartphone. Sherlock forgot momentarily all about his case. Was he taking pictures of the children playing at the park?! No, he was looking past the kids now, towards a group of trees. Sherlock was surprisingly relieved that his mystery man wasn’t some kind of a stalker or pervert. 

Sherlock pretended to stare at his own phone and watched the man from the corner of his eye as he turned again and walked closer to the bench Sherlock was occupying. Sherlock realized the man was now glancing at him, and lifted his own gaze to stare back. He was rewarded with a shy smile and a tiny wave with the phone hand, and didn’t really know what to make of that. For some unfathomable reason he smiled back though, and clearly that was interpreted as an encouraging gesture: the man pushed the phone into his pocket, crossed the distance and sat on the bench next to him.

Sherlock looked at the man carefully, and took in all the data he might have missed from distance (tanned face but not wrists, blond hair with overgrown military cut, conspiratorial but shy grin, very expressive face, blue eyes..).

“Afghanistan or Iraq," he asked, just to stop his thoughts from wandering any further.

“So have you found it," the other asked at the same time. Two ducks flew above them towards a pond, and they stared at each other.

“I-what?" the man asked, bright eyes now under a bemused frown. Sherlock felt almost reluctant to speak to the man. He was an interesting mystery now, but talking to him would of course shatter that impression. It always did. That reluctance was stupidly sentimental though, so he let his curiosity win.

“Your limp isn’t fake. A faker would forget it when nobody’s watching, you forgot when you noticed me. Your haircut and posture scream military, so it’s no great leap to deduce it’s a war wound. The forgetting indicates it’s psychosomatic. According to your tan lines and my knowledge of British campaigns, it’s either Afghanistan or Iraq."

“I.. Wow! That’s.. Who are you?"

“Sherlock Holmes," he extended his hand, almost sure that the stranger would excuse himself and leave. That happened a lot, and people with a trauma were even more easily offended than the general population.

“John Watson, nice to meet you!," the man, John, said instead, shaking his hand. “How did you know? Do I know you?"

“I didn’t know. I saw," Sherlock answered, and instead of getting offended, John Watson looked at him with curiosity.

“Well, I made a deduction about you too, but now I wonder if I was wrong," he said with a sideways glance, “Have we met somewhere? I’m reasonably sure I would not forget a guy like you, but..".

“We haven’t met," Sherlock told him absent-mindedly, thoughts and observations racing in his head. What had the man deduced? He had asked Sherlock about finding something. What could it be?

“I saw you looking for something, and just kept an eye on you," he finally stated, without asking anything. Basic interrogation techniques. It would do no good to advertise what he didn’t know. Something twitched in the man’s face, but he looked like he didn’t care if Sherlock knew or not. How interesting!

“So that’s what you do? Keep an eye on people walking around the park?" he asked. The affable smile had turned a bit skeptical. He clearly thought Sherlock was now the suspicious one, not himself. What could that mean? Or did it mean anything?

“I’m a detective, and right now I’m looking for a stolen dog. I solve mysteries and crimes, and I have already deduced that you are not hiding a bomb or drugs".

“Well thank goodness for that," Watson answered grimly.

“You are not surprised. I’m not the first one who has found you suspicious?"

“Nope, you aren’t. But since you have already deduced I’m not doing either of those, I’m going to keep it a secret," Watson said with a wink.

“I will find out!"

“I’m sure you will. What else can you tell about me just by looking?"

“I.." Suddenly Sherlock didn’t know what to say.

“Come on, I’ve never met a detective! Tell me." Watson said. Sherlock tensed for a moment, but when he didn’t notice any signs of mockery, he relaxed again.

“Your phone," he began, looking at the device in Watson’s hands. “It’s from your brother, recently separated from his wife. He was alcoholic. No, is. You disapprove, it’s shows plainly on your face. You are living in a bedsit, so you must want to live in London. Otherwise you would have moved to a cheaper city."

“That was amazing!," John Watson said, looking surprised. A bit reserved, but mostly just friendly and surprised. Sherlock was baffled.

“That’s not.. What people normally say," he said.

“Well what do they usually say?" Watson asked, stretching his bad leg.

“Piss off," Sherlock answered, wondering why this stranger was not the same. John Watson burst out laughing, and Sherlock could not help but join him with a grin. Then Watson asked him about the dog case, and when Sherlock explained all the idiocy, Watson was laughing even more. He looked a bit surprised though, like he wasn’t used to laughing.

“I hope your girlfriend never cheats, you’d smell that before it even happened!" he laughed. “Or boyfriend!" he added hastily, almost like a question but not quite. The expression on Watson’s face was playful, and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was being mocked… or was the man hitting on him?

“I.." He started, but didn’t know what to say. He had a speech, designed to put off any romantic advances without offending anyone. Married to work, not interested in relationships, flattered anyway. He had never had any difficulties with the words before, but now he found himself unwilling to drive the mystery man away. The man had been surprisingly interesting even after he had started talking, and besides, the mystery was still unsolved! Sherlock was an expert at fending off unwanted advances, but he had no idea how to react to those that weren’t necessarily unwanted.. Did he want that? Was Watson even flirting with him, or just being.. What? 

Sherlock didn’t know what Watson saw in his face, but the man’s smile faltered and he stood up. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get anything out, Sherlock noticed something from the corner of his eye. The loverboy with the dog! In a moment of panic he just left John Watson standing there, mouth hanging open, and ran after the stolen animal. After a heated argument, he received the dog’s leash and all the information he needed to convict the man of petty theft. He was quite satisfied until he realized that he hadn’t really said anything to Watson before running off.

“Shit," he cursed and looked at the bench they had been sitting on. It was empty, of course, and there were no limping soldiers in sight.

“Could you track him for me?" he asked the dog. Being the small short-haired lapdog that she was, she just lifted one shaking leg up from the cold pavement and looked decidedly unimpressed. 

***

Sherlock was very annoyed with himself. It wasn’t like he actually wanted anything to do with the flirting John Watson! He just wanted to crack the mystery! What was that man searching for? Sherlock threw a couple of books to a cardboard box with an angry grunt. Why couldn’t he come up with anything to say before running off? And why the heck did it matter so much, it was unlikely he’d see the man ever again! It had to be because of the unsolved mystery. Why was he thinking about him, when he should have been concentrating on packing his fragile lab equipment and experiments?

The wife had paid him handsomely (it had to be at least twice the amount she had paid for the animal in the first place!), so he had been able to pay Mrs. Hudson for two months’ rent in advance. That was a start, but he needed a long-term plan to get Mycroft off his back. Stamford had suggested a flatmate while administrating his drug test the day before. That would make the rent more manageable, and he wouldn’t be living alone, so it had the additional bonus of taking the wind from Mycroft’s ultimatum’s sails. The option was tempting, but how was he supposed to find a flatmate who would willingly move in with him? Let alone someone who Sherlock could stand on a daily basis.. Stamford had just smiled and told him he actually had someone in mind who could fit perfectly. He just needed to make a call.

Sherlock didn’t really believe it, so instead he waited for Lestrade to call. At least the case of John Watson had given him enough stimulation to fend off the temptation to dull his senses with illegal substances. Sherlock’s negative test results should have reached Lestrade already, and while NSY would not pay for Sherlock’s work, maybe there would be something interesting to counterweight the terrible tedium of the private cases he would be forced to take. 

He was right. In two hours he was sitting in a cab heading towards the crime scene. The case was barely a six, but at least had a dead body in it. The body in question had been moved to Bart’s already, but the scene was not yet otherwise cleaned, and according to Lestrade, there was something “off". A sister had been murdered and her three brothers were missing. Sherlock hadn’t asked any more details though, since it would have been a terrible waste to solve it before even reaching the destination! 

The cab drove slowly through Abbey road and stopped to let people cross the road. Sherlock tapped his fingers restlessly against the cab’s door-handle, and watched London slide past the car windows. People were moving like sheep around the city, boringly living their boring lives. It wasn’t until the car was moving again that Sherlock noticed something familiar on the other side of the road. John Watson was standing there, phone in hand, staring at something above him. The cab turned, and the man disappeared from the view so it took a moment for Sherlock to catch up on what he had seen: John Watson was staring at a CCTV camera. 

Sherlock’s insides went cold. Suddenly the mystery of what the man had been looking for didn’t seem important at all. It had to be just a cover story. This wasn’t a coincidence, the way Watson had talked to him wasn’t a coincidence. John Watson was Mycroft’s spy!

***

John Watson walked towards Regent’s park leaning heavily on his cane. The pain was just in his head. He should be able to block it, but sadly it came back the moment he realized it had been gone. Right now the pain was definitely there, but he walked on anyway. He knew he would regret it later, but he hated feeling like an invalid. He had stubbornly refused to use the tube, being sure he would do something stupid and ungrateful if someone offered him a seat again. Once had been enough, thank you very much. At least he had enough time to walk around the park and collect the clues before continuing to St. Barts. Stamford had wished to meet him for dinner tonight, and he had accepted for no other reason but to spend more time away from his small bedsit. Stamford had sounded excited about something, and had politely asked if he had some time to spare to talk about something important. What else did an unemployed cripple have, but time? 

His spirits raised a bit when he reached the park gates. He hadn’t really admitted it to himself, but part of his insistence to visit the park on his way was to see if Sherlock Holmes would be there. He had googled the name and found out his website and a notice about moving to Baker Street during the current month. There was really no reason for Holmes to be at Regent’s park, but it was the nearest park to his new address, and since John was walking around parks anyway.. 

John felt like a stalker, especially since Holmes had practically fled after John had hinted about homosexuality, and tried to chat him up. He hadn’t really thought before doing it and according to the reaction, he really should have kept his mouth shut. With his luck, the man was straight as an arrow! And even if he wasn’t, why the hell would a man like that give him a second thought? Especially since he knew there was something wrong with John’s head. He didn’t like speaking about his psychosomatic pains, so he usually let people go on thinking that he had a real wound in his leg. Sherlock Holmes had seen right through him, and it was equal parts scary and soothing: The man knew, and John didn’t have to explain anything. 

John was so lost in his thoughts that when he actually encountered Sherlock Holmes against all odds, he almost walked past the man. Holmes seemed to recognize him, but the previous friendliness was completely gone. Was he really that offended about John’s thoughtless words?

“Don’t go anywhere," Holmes hissed before John could offer any kind of greeting, and ran off towards two men standing near the hedges, somewhat hidden from the public eye. John’s mind was reeling from the sudden encounter and peculiar order, so he just stopped walking and followed them with his gaze. The men had been talking animatedly, but stopped when Holmes confronted them. John could not hear what they were talking. Was one of them the dog thief?

Suddenly John’s reflexes kicked in and he was running before he even knew it, the cane forgotten. Another man had walked towards Holmes and his companions and had suddenly drawn a knife. He was holding it behind his back while walking towards Holmes and greeting the others. John’s charging caught Holmes’ attention, so he wasn’t caught entirely unawares when the man tried to strike. John managed to tackle the culprit to the ground soon after, and the other two men tried to run off.

The next moments were a bit of a blur. Suddenly there were multiple policemen, shouting orders and chasing after the runaways. John let go of the man he was holding down when one of the policemen came to take him into custody. His eyes caught Sherlock Holmes sitting on the grass, staring John with a weird expression. 

“Acting as a bodyguard now?!" the man hissed through gritted teeth, surprising John with the venom in his voice. He was about to form an apology when a gray-haired policeman pushed him gently to the side and stood right in front of the sitting detective.

“You fucking madman!," he shouted. “You promised to wait, and here we are again!"

“Without me you would not have even noticed that they were planning to meet here after the murder!" Holmes answered a bit petulantly. Clearly Holmes and the policeman knew each other.

“You almost got stabbed," John muttered, unsure of what to do in the surreal situation. Sherlock turned his gaze back to John, and he had to swallow. He raked through his memories of their previous encounter, and could not see any reason to be THAT angry. The policeman seemed to finally notice John’s presence.

“And who are you and how did you get messed up with this?" he asked sternly, but not unkindly.

“Yes, pray tell me, what are you doing here?!" Holmes joined him snidely.

“John Watson, sir," John answered promptly. He might as well explain his “secret" to Holmes as well, it didn’t look like he was interested in the mystery any more. “I was actually doing some geocaching when I noticed Mr. Holmes, and then I saw the knife.." John shrugged apologetically.

“Well and good that you did! I’m detective inspector Greg Lestrade," the policeman grinned and offered his hand. “So, a geocacher, eh? Looking for the clues for Regent’s Park Circular multi?"

“Yes! Have you found it?" John asked with astonishment. He hadn’t thought policemen really approved of the hobby.

“Yes I have! I don’t have much time for the hobby anymore, but I used to do it."

Holmes had grown quiet during the conversation, but had been staring at them incessantly.

“What on earth is geocaching?!" he finally asked while standing up stiffly. His face was white and he was holding his side.

“Well well, there’s something about London you don’t know?" Lestrade asked with a jovial tone, but John had stopped listening. With one step he was standing next to Holmes and holding his arm with one hand while opening his coat with other. He didn’t even stop to look at the wide eyed expression on Holmes’ face before pulling the detective’s shirttails from his trousers. The attacker had actually managed to hit him with the knife, and Holmes had just sat there bleeding while they were talking of the stupid hobby..

Lestrade noticed John’s bloody fingers and shouted someone to call an ambulance. Sherlock protested rather loudly and when John made sure the wound wasn’t that serious, Lestrade reluctantly ordered someone to drive them to A&E instead. John told the DI that he was a doctor, and was on his way to St. Barts anyway, so he could go with Holmes. Only after they had been seated in the back of a police car, John realized how his actions must have looked.

“I really am a doctor, I didn’t mean to come on to you like that, but you were bleeding, and... You don’t need to worry though, I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable the last time, I-"

“Do you work for the government?" Holmes interrupted his rambling, studying his face intently, even though the wound in his side must feel quite nasty.

“What?"

“You heard me."

John didn’t know what to make of that. Was he being interrogated?

“Well, one could argue that being a soldier means you are working for the government, but -"

“Do you know someone called Mycroft?" Holmes interrupted again, some of the angry tension in his body slipping away. John was dumbfounded.

“No? What are you going on about?"

“Trying to find out who you are" Holmes told with a deep sigh. John had a peculiar feeling of passing some kind of a test. He just didn’t know what kind.

“What is geocaching?" Holmes continued, his eyes closed. John was a bit worried about him. The wound wasn’t dangerous, but..

“You are still thinking about that?"

“Explain!"

“It’s a hobby, basically a bit like a treasure hunt. You get coordinates or clues from the internet. Then you try to find the cache. I have this app on my phone for it. The cache is usually just some kind of a plastic container and you have to write your name in it’s logbook. Today I found one that was actually a CCTV camera though."

John wasn’t sure if Holmes was actually interested in his explanation, but at least he had opened his eyes again. Was the man still angry at him? Had he ever been? What had he meant about the government?

“Why did you talk to me at Battersea?" Holmes asked, now looking definitely more curious and less calculating.

“Well I thought you might have found the cache I was looking for," John answered simply.

“That was your deduction?"

“You were practically sitting on it," John shrugged. “It was hidden under the park bench. You were following me with your eyes, and smiled when I lifted my phone. I took it as a sign that you were a cacher too. I’m sorry I misinterpreted it."

Holmes nodded, and stayed silent for a while. He was leaning his head to the car’s window, staring outside, and John had an urge to poke him just to make sure the man hadn’t fainted. The traffic had picked up, but they would soon arrive to the hospital.

“It was the dog," Holmes said so quietly that John barely heard him.

“What?"

“I saw the stolen dog and ran after it. When I came back, you were gone".

Well that explained something, John thought. He wondered why he hadn’t even looked where the detective had run to. Well, to be honest, he had had a very good reason to just log the cache while nobody was looking, and walk away.

“I had just made an idiot of myself in front of you, so I fled to lick my wounds," he explained with a fair bit of self-irony.

“I’m sorry, by the way. For making you uncomfortable and angry," he continued. His cheeks felt warm.

“You have nothing to be sorry of. I really left just because of the dog. It was much later when it came to my mind that you might be working for one of my enemies. Apparently you are not."

“You should hope so," John stated, somewhat relieved. “I can keep you company before my friend arrives. If you don’t mind, I mean. I promise I’m not chatting you up," he continued nervously.

Holmes nodded solemnly, with a definite pinkish hue on his cheeks, and they continued the rest of the drive in silence. When the car stopped in front of the AE doors, John walked the detective in, being afraid that he would run away otherwise. He sent a short message to Stamford of his whereabouts, and sat with Holmes in the waiting area. They didn’t talk, but he noticed that Holmes was googling geocaching on his phone. That made John smile a bit. He would definitely like to meet Sherlock Holmes again someday. Maybe they could solve some mystery caches together?

“Well look at you, you found each other without my meddling, I see," Mike Stamford surprised them both by appearing behind them.

“What?" John asked, wondering if he had somehow fallen into a rabbit-hole without noticing. The evening had certainly been surreal enough! The detective next to him however seemed to find some sanity in the situation.

“How do you feel about the violin?" he asked from John with a sudden light in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, what?"

“I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

John was completely entirely speechless, and he looked at Stamford for help.

“Well, you wanted to stay in London," his friend grinned, looking entirely too smug.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is the second fic I've ever published, and the first that I wrote straight in English (usually I write in my own language and then translate). I would appreciate and love it very much, if you could help me to notice typos etc, since I don't have a beta, and I wish to get better with my english. All kinds of comments, kudos, constructive criticism etc are more than welcome. 
> 
> The fic's name comes from a t-shirt of mine. It has a text "Never mess with a geocacher, we know the best places to hide a body".
> 
> ABOUT GEOCACHING:  
> Me and my husband were geocaching, when I was moaning about the lack of fic ideas, and.. well here we are! And I think Sherlock would love solving the Mystery caches! 
> 
> Geocaching is a real-world, outdoor treasure hunting game using GPS-enabled devices. Participants navigate to a specific set of GPS coordinates and then attempt to find the geocache (container) hidden at that location. Traditional cached can be found in given coordinates. Mystery caches involve complicated puzzles that you will first need to solve in order to determine the correct coordinate. A Multi-cache is series of clues which lead to the cache container. There are many variations, but typically once you’re at the first stage, you will receive a clue to the whereabouts of the second stage. The second stage will have a clue for the third, and so on. The hobby is known almost world-wide, and it's so much fun! Contact me on Tumblr (@Mirjamiarty) if you have any questions about it!
> 
> All of the caches John has been searching in this story are real, but I haven't found them, so I'm not in any way spoiling the caches. The first cache in this story is on Montague street near the bicycles. The Battersea park has multiple caches, but none of them is under the park bench (I think!). The third one is a CCTV cache on Abbey Road. That one has a public webcam, and in order to log the cache, you have to take a screenshot of the webcam image, when you are standing in the picture. There is also a multi cache in Regent's park (the one Lestrade and John were talking about). It includes looking for clues around the park (counting some trees, etc).
> 
> Geocaching includes searching and finding items in nature and cities, and it's not unheard of that people who don't know about the hobby find us suspicious. I have read newspaper articles about at least following:  
> \- a bomb at railway station (it was a geocache)  
> \- some pervert was stalking the children (geocacher was looking for a cache on children's playground)  
> \- someone had called police about a drug stash under a bridge (again, a geocache) 
> 
> And I used them as Sherlock's theory!


End file.
